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The MacLeods' arrival had, however, been fortunate for her and Heather. Well-armed, battle-hardened and

disciplined, they had cleared a path through which the Scots had escaped to the side of the street, where they concealed themselves in a garbage can. By now very frightened by the chaos, Heather and Morag had stopped

fighting each other and concentrated on hiding.

Morag winced as Kerry cleaned a wound on her scalp. 'What happened then?'

'The fighting went on a long time. Then the noise seemed to fade away. Eventually we looked out and there was no one around. Heather insulted me and I insulted her back but our hearts weren't in it. She went home and I came here.' 'What about the MacLeods?'

Morag shrugged. They had been nowhere in sight. She didn't know why they had just left them. But the worst

thing of all was the MacPherson Fiddle. It was now lying smashed in the gutter, run over by a car.

T have just destroyed my clan's greatest heirloom, one of the great fairy artefacts of Scotland.'

Morag was utterly inconsolable, the most miserable fairy in New York by a long way — apart from Heather across the street, who was not feeling any better.

When Kerry finished cleaning and bandaging Morag she put her to bed and got on with the business of fitting her new colostomy bag for the day. She wondered what she could do to help. And she thought about her day out with Dinnie, which had been surprisingly enjoyable.

Johnny Thunders had been surprised to see fairies fighting on East 4th Street. It reminded him of a riot at a gig one time in Sweden when he was so drunk he fell over on stage and was unable to play.

The street was now quiet. He looked at the flower in his hands, dropped by Ailsa in the heat of battle. A very beautiful bloom, he thought.

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THIRTY-TWO

Kerry was lying on cushions, tired and unwell. Today she had pains round her stomach which was always a

worrying symptom. None the less she was thinking about Morag's troubles.

'I really think you should hand back the pieces of the flag to the MacLeods. That at least would solve one

problem.'

'We can't.' Morag shook her head.

'I know how you feel,' said Kerry. 'But aren't you taking sentiment too far? After all, you will still have the memory.'

Morag looked puzzled and asked what Kerry was talking about. Kerry said she had guessed the reason the fairies would not give up their blankets.

Morag burst out laughing.

'That's not the reason we can't give the pieces back. The reason we can't give them back is because we used them to blow our noses on. It was a miserable cold night and we were both sniffly.'

'You blew your noses on them?'

'That's right. And if the MacLeods ever find out that we used their revered Fairy Banner for handkerchiefs, there will be general warfare and carnage among Scotland's fairy population. The entire MacLeod clan would be over

the water from Skye and marching on the MacPhersons and the MacKintoshes before you could blink.'

'Really?'

'Really. I told you before that one thing you could not do to their banner was cut pieces off. Well, that is as nothing compared to blowing your nose on it. A more deadly insult could not be imagined. Jean MacLeod, Queen

of the Clan, would have the MacLeods of Glenelg, the MacLeods of Harris, the MacLeods of Dunvegan, and

MacLeods of Lewis, the MacLeods of Waternish and the MacLeods of Assynt marching through the glens in a

moment.'

'There seem to be a lot of MacLeods.'

'There is a terrible lot of MacLeods. And they'd bring their allies — the Lewises, the MacLewises, the

MacCrimmons, the Beatons, the Bethunes, the MacCaigs, the MacCaskills, the MacClures, the MacLures, the

MacCorkindales, the Mac-Corquodales, the MacCuags, the Tolmies, the MacHarolds, the MacRailds, the

Malcomsons, and probably a few more. There is a terrible lot of MacLeod allies as well.

'Attacking the MacPhersons and the MacKintoshes would raise the old fairy Clan Chattan confederation, provided they could stop feuding for a moment about who was in charge, and then the Davidsons, MacGillvrays,

Farquarsons and Adamsons would come to our aid and there would be a terrible war. And if a war like that

happens because Heather and I blew our noses on a flag, our lives won't be worth living.'

Kerry considered this.

'How about washing it so they'll never know?'

'We tried. It can't be done. Nothing will remove the stains. One look at the pieces and Mairi MacLeod with the second sight will know.'

Heather sat sadly at the bottom of the fire escape. She stared hopelessly down at the sidewalk, unable to imagine how things could be worse.

Dinnie, a fellow MacKintosh, had betrayed her, striking a secret bargain with a MacPherson. Ashamed for her clan, she shuddered.

The MacPherson Fiddle was smashed. First the MacLeod Banner, then the MacPherson Fiddle. Thank the Goddess

the MacKintosh Sword was still in Scotland or she might have broken that as well. Important clan heirlooms just seemed to crumble in her hands.

Neither she nor Morag would ever be able to go home again, and as they were now bitter enemies, they would both be on their own.

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And then there were the MacLeods. Where had they gone? It hardly mattered. There was no longer any possibility of flight. Once Mairi MacLeod had your scent, there was no escape.

Heather felt that she hardly cared. She put her finger through a hole in her kilt, which had re-opened despite her attempt to patch it with Dinnie's cushion cover. For a fairy, Heather was extremely bad at mending.

Behind her, Titania ran through her lines.

'You stupid scunner!' exploded Heather, materialising suddenly. 'That's not how a fairy queen would talk!'

Titania panicked and ran from the theatre.

'Well, Kerry, I have just been up on the rooftops talking with Johnny Thunders and there is some good news and some bad news.'

Kerry looked up from the beads she was stringing.

'The good news is that he has told me every note in the guitar break on "Vietnamese Baby" which I will now be able to teach you, providing the MacLeods let me live long enough. The bad news is that he found the poppy after the battle outside and gave it to the Chinese fairies to trade with Magenta for his guitar. It has slipped through our grasp again.'

Kerry wailed.

Morag scratched her head, slightly itchy from too much hair dye.

'When the Chinese brought him the guitar it wasn't his old Gibson after all. It was a cheap Japanese copy. He's really annoyed.'

So was Kerry. The way that this woman Magenta kept making off with her prize flower was infuriating beyond

belief.

Morag found Heather sitting on the steps, still chuckling about the fleeing Titania.

'Give me your piece of the banner.'

'What?'

'Give me your piece of the banner and don't argue about it.'

Heather shrugged, unwrapped her fiddle and handed the green cloth to Morag. Morag flew back across the road to Kerry's. She reappeared moments later and rejoined Heather, but before she could speak, Ailsa, Seonaid, Mairi and Rhona MacLeod - cut and bruised, but still glowing with health — landed gracefully beside them.

'Let's talk,' said Ailsa, and unslung her claymore.

Heather and Morag slumped in resignation.

The MacLeods had been distracted in the battle by the arrival of the still rampaging Cu Sidth dog which, attracted by the fairies, had raced down 4th Street and attacked Rhona. No sooner had they driven it away and killed it than they found themselves surrounded by unknown tribes. Fortunately the regal Okailey had then managed to halt the fighting.

'The New York tribes have gone their various ways,' said Ailsa. 'But they are hostile and suspicious of each other.

Thanks to you pair, I understand. You have a talent for upsetting people.'

'How did the famous MacPherson Fiddle come to be in New York? Mairi recognised its aura before it was

broken,' said Rhona.

Heather and Morag admitted they did not know. Nor did anyone know where the pieces had got to.

Seonaid fingered her dirk.

'Where are the fragments you cut from our banner?'

Four Puerto Ricans appeared on the corner with their tennis ball and tried keeping it in the air with their heads.

They took up the whole sidewalk so passers-by had to make their way past on the road. The passers-by included a man taking a weasel for a walk on a leash. This made the MacLeods stare, but not Heather and Morag because

they had seen it before.

Heather was at a complete loss. She knew what was going to happen when she handed back her piece of cloth.

Mairi would take one look at it and know it had been used as a handkerchief. Death would arrive immediately

after, followed by a raising of the clans back home.

'Why,' said Morag brightly, 'we have the pieces safely with us. We are really very sorry we cut them from your file:///Users/lisa/Downloads/Martin%20Millar%20-%20The%20Good%20Fairies%20of%20New%20York.html

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banner — it was an accident and we did not know what we were doing. Come with us and we'll give them to you.'

She led the way across the road.

'Are you mad?' hissed Heather. 'You know what's going to happen now.'

'Trust me,' whispered Morag.

'Hello,' said Kerry brightly as they appeared. 'You must be the MacLeods I've been hearing about. You are even more gracious and lovely than Morag and Heather's descriptions of you. Would you like some tea?'

'No.'

'Are you sure? Morag has taught me how to make a good Scottish cup of tea.'

'The banner.'

'Right.'

Kerry opened a drawer and took out two clean bits of cloth, handing them to Ailsa.

'As you can see,' said Kerry. 'Morag and Heather have treated them with great respect.'

Mairi sniffed at them. She pronounced them undamaged.

'And perhaps they may yet be sewed back on to the banner and no harm done.'

'We would have given them back before,' said Morag, 'only you never gave us a chance to explain.'

'I still have a mind to cut you to pieces.'

'Right,' said Morag. 'But before you do, consider this. I see your sporran was cut and ripped during the fight. And, with one of these psychic insights which I am so well known for, I have a strong feeling that your sporran held all your fairy magic, namely your sleep spells, and your means of returning home. Is this not true?'

Ailsa admitted that it was. Her spell for magicking a moon-bow back to Scotland was gone, lost on the winds of the Lower East Side.

'But we still have one,' lied Morag. 'Just let bygones be bygones, and we can all go home together.'

'I know a rich merchant who lives in these parts,' Magenta told her men. 'We will trade with him.'

Her force had now passed through the dangerous mountains to the north of Persia and reached the coast. The coast was occupied partly by Greeks, which was an improvement, although even fellow Greeks were not necessarily

going to be pleased to see a force of lawless and battle-hardened mercenaries camped outside their walls.

What they needed now was ships to make the last part of the journey home easier. Xenophon would trade some of her booty with the merchant.

In his shop in Canal Street, Hwui-Yin was not displeased to see Magenta. Often in the past they had had

interesting talks when the grey-haired lady had brought him something to sell.

'Why do you give her money for such rubbish?' asked his assistant after she left, and Hwui-Yin explained that he was always sympathetic to a bag lady with a sound knowledge of classical Greece.

175

'If she wants to sell me a broken child's fiddle to buy boot polish, why not? At least I got a good explanation of why the Athenians found it necessary to execute Socrates.'

Kerry, a persistent host, got the MacLeods to accept some tea, oatcakes and honey. After their hardships, they were not averse to a spell of comfort.

'How did you manage it?' whispered Heather.

'Kerry did it,' whispered Morag in reply. 'With modern washing technology. She just shoogled the bits round in her machine for a wee while and they came out fine. Apparently washing is more advanced here than in Cruickshank

They have special powders for washing even the most delicate fabric at a low temperature and making it

completely clean. And also something called fabric conditioner which makes it soft, pleasant and as good as new.'

Heather was impressed.

'There are certainly many good things in New York,' she said, immensely relieved.

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THIRTY-THREE

Disaster threatened from all quarters. The Italian, Chinese and Ghanaian fairies had retreated to their home

territories, but remained alert to the possibility of war. The forces of Tala the King were ready to invade New York, while his special mercenary band had surrounded Aelric in Tintagel Castle.

Dinnie, unaided by Heather's bank robberies, was facing imminent eviction; and Heather, outraged at the treachery of his bargain with Morag, would not lift a finger to help. The MacLeod fairies were for the moment pacified, but still talked of taking Heather and Morag home to Skye to stand trial for theft. Meanwhile they would not let them out of their sight.

'And the MacPherson Fiddle is smashed,' groaned Heather, gloomily sharing a dram with Morag in the bar on the corner. They had themselves settled down into a moody truce. As to whose the fiddle would have been had it still existed, the Goddess only knew. If Kerry really had fallen in love with Dinnie it would have been Heather's; if she had only been pretending it would have been Morag's. Kerry herself was being reticent.